


Sleep

by lokilickedme



Series: Would You Like To Play A Game? [4]
Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, Unrelated (2007) RPF
Genre: Bad Flirting, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-29 10:38:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3893278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokilickedme/pseuds/lokilickedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When I chose Thomas Oakley for my sleep studies test subject, I didn't expect my clinical findings to go quite the direction they did.  Part 4 of the Would You Like To Play A Game? series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep

 

 

He looks at me and grins, all messy golden blonde curls and big blue eyes and wide smile that could make an angel pluck its own feathers.  He plops down beside me on the grass and stretches out arms and legs that seem to extend into next week, crossing his ankles and leaning back on his elbows to stare at me intrusively.  My god his feet are huge.  

I put my book down and pick up my notebook and pen.

"Okay, so tell me.  How do you go to sleep most nights?"

He has one eye squinted against the sun, the other not even pretending to not be looking at my breasts.  I've never met such a brazen manwhore as Thomas Oakley.  For someone so young, he has an assurance and raging sense of self confidence that would rival a much older, much better looking man.

He'll grow into his looks, I'm sure...you can see it coming, the prominent cheekbones beginning to hollow out, the laugh lines around his mouth becoming those handsome deep creases that men wear so well. The lanky puppydog clumsiness morphing into an elegant grace that only very tall, very confident males acquire.  He needs a haircut.  The tight little curls that frame his sweet face make him seem so...childish.

"Most nights I masturbate."

So much for the childish image.  I look at him sideways.

"Most nights?"

He nods, tipping his face up to the sun, not a shy bone in his body.  "Well, nights that I'm alone.  Which is most nights these days, since Carly broke up with me."

I don't want to hear his Carly story, so I start writing.  

"So what's the point of masturbating?  It helps you fall asleep?"

"It clears my head.  Stop thinking, fall asleep fast before it starts up again."

I have to admit that I never thought of Oakley as a big thinker and the fact that overthinking could be keeping him awake is surprising.  He gives me another cockeyed look.  "What class is this?"

"Human Biology.  Polysomnography studies."

"Oh.  Cool.  So, you gonna watch me sleep?"

"By definition, wouldn't that require me to watch you masturbate?"

He pulls his elbows out from under himself and flops back on the grass, eyes closed, and reaches out to stroke a long finger down the back of my arm.  "If you want."

 

Next morning I see him on the quad and he yells for me to wait for him.  He catches up and I keep walking, letting him fall into stride alongside me.  "Come watch me sleep tonight," he says with a grin.  "You can help me nod off."

I ignore him.  He starts getting obnoxious, stepping in front of me and walking backwards, trying to force me to look at him.  "Come on," he taunts.  "For your study."

"I've come to the conclusion you won't make a good test subject," I snap back, trying to get around him, but those crazy long legs of his keep him ahead of me.  

"And why is that?"

"Because I'm not interested in having sex with you, and I doubt you have any real interest in sleeping."

He clutches his heart in mock drama.  "I'm wounded - the pretty little intellectual doesn't want to have sex with me!"  He stops suddenly and I crash into him, a little surprised at how tightly his fingers dig into my upper arms as he grabs me.  "Come do your study, sweetheart.  I'll be good, I promise."

I know better.  I really, _really_   know better.  

It doesn't stop it from happening though.

 

He is in his bed, and I'm sitting beside him with my notebook on my thighs.  His hand is there too, or rather most of his arm, where he has cuddled up to me and laid his head against the side of my hip, his arm laid across my lap in a sleepy hug.  The only reason I'm letting him get away with it is because he did it after he went to sleep.  I'm a little disconcerted by how possessive the hug feels.

I watch him sleeping, listening to him breathe;  he's a noisy breather, most likely due to his broken nose.  I make notation of it and write myself a reminder to ask what sort of injury caused it.  Knowing him, something ridiculous and unnecessary.

He'd fallen asleep easily, after a short conversation about my study and - thankfully - no whacking off.  No doubt the two beers he'd finished off before bed helped with that.  I watch him for a few more minutes, then ease my legs out from under his arm and slip off the bed, trying my best not to wake him.  He sighs deeply, replacing my legs with his pillow, and settles again.

If he wasn't such a flirty, arrogant little rich boy brat, I think I could like him a little more than I do.

 

Night two of my study takes a very different turn.  Oakley can't sleep, tossing and turning, till finally he rolls over on his back and kicks the sheets off.  I try really hard not to notice the obvious erection straining at the front of his boxers, but it's the very unmissable elephant in the room;  he sighs deeply, with frustration, his big blue eyes opening to peer at me in the lamplight.

"I can't clear my head," he tells me in a steady voice tinged with annoyance.  "Guess I'll have to clear my pipes."

He reaches across to where I'm sitting, in a chair beside the bed this time, and gives my knee a squeeze.  His other hand is already slipping down the front of his boxers before he asks, "Do you mind?"

I try to keep my eyes on my notebook, but his fingers are massaging that weird little spot on the inside of my knee where even the slightest touch feels confusingly erotic.  "No, please - go ahead."  I give him a quick look and find his eyes locked to mine.  "For science," I add with a smile.  He smiles back but doesn't look away as his hand starts to move inside his boxers.

He moans and finally closes his eyes, so I feel a little less self conscious about watching him stroke himself.   _For science,_   I keep repeating inside my head.   _Scientific...something or other_.   His cock seems unrealistically huge, but I assume it's because his hand is in there with it.  I'm uncomfortably aware that his other hand is still on my knee, kneading that ticklish inner bit with his thumb, his long fingers wrapped around to the soft part in back where it bends.  I'd feel a whole lot better if he removed it, but he doesn't.  

I take notes, though I'm not sure exactly what part of my study this would be categorized under.  Self-relief for mental clarity necessary to sleep induction?  I try hard to focus on my notebook but find myself distracted by the soft little moans coming from Oakley.  He sounds...inviting.  The big hand caressing my knee in rhythm with the other hand stroking his cock isn't helping my concentration.  I reach down to push it away and he grabs me by the wrist, his eyes still closed, and tugs me forward till my hand is against his chest.

 _Oh hell no_ I scream inside my head.  I am _not_   here to help!  Observation only...

He has my hand tight against his chest, holding it in place with his own.  

There isn't a thought in my head until I realize I'm stroking his nipple with my thumb, and his breath is catching in his throat while his back arches slightly.  His mouth has dropped open and he's making that unmistakable breathy sound that signals when a man is about to come.

_Oh god Anna..._

Oh hell no.

I don't have time to be taken aback by his moaning of my name, because he suddenly grips my hand so tight it hurts.  He thrusts his hips up and I see his other hand go still inside his boxers, and he groans a whispered curse under his breath as his body relaxes, all tense muscles and taut limbs going soft and limp again.  His breath comes in quiet pants as he turns over on his side and pulls my hand up from his chest to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to my palm.

In moments he is asleep.

 

We do a full week of sleep observation.  

On day four my study takes an interesting turn when I discover through clinical testing that mutual masturbation has the same effect on two test subjects at once.

On day five I make the discovery that actual intercourse hastens the sleep cycle even more quickly than manual pleasuring.

On day six my notebook never even makes it out of my backpack.

 

 


End file.
